The soldier flickered back into existence. Deven gripped him by the sweatshirt and hurled him into the street. Cars honked and several drivers swore at the soldier, who rushed to the opposite side of the road in terror. He’d dropped one of his knives in the middle of the road.

Stupid, Deven thought.

Deven waited for a gap in the traffic before crossing after the Aztaw. As he closed in, the soldier’s eyes widened and he raised his knife.

“Hello, Fight Arm,” Deven said in Aztawi. He held his own knife close to his body. Unlike the soldier, Deven had no distraction spell to encase him. “Shall we go for a stroll?”

“Human Jaguar.” Fight Arm’s mouth curled into a snarl. “I’m not surprised this was your work.”

Deven didn’t know what he was talking about, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “Tell Lord Knife I said hi. I can’t decide if I’m more surprised you’re still alive or that you’ve been demoted to the position of a spy.”

Fight Arm growled and moved closer. Deven dropped his hand onto his blade and closed the distance.

At once, Fight Arm put his knife into a hilt at his belt and held up his empty hands. “I did not come to fight, only to observe.”

“That’s why you’re armed?”

“I wasn’t sure who I’d find.”

“You found me.” Several people had stopped to watch them. One gawked, open-mouthed, at the gaping dark hole where Fight Arm’s face was supposed to be. Deven’s conversation with Fight Arm damaged his illusion. “We must walk.” He turned and strode toward the nearby park.

After a moment’s hesitation, Fight Arm followed. Deven’s back crawled with the sensation of having his enemy behind him, but they both knew who would win a knife fight, and Fight Arm, despite his animosity, seemed unwilling to die to prove Deven right.

“Where did you find that portal?” Deven asked.

“Dark corner of reeds where Lord Black Dog once had his house.”

“Lord Black Dog is dead?” Deven asked, surprised. He thought he’d be one who’d survive until the end.

Fight Arm inclined his head briefly in response, but his expression was still one of rage. There was too much bad blood between them to engage in idle conversation, no matter how events had changed their roles.

There was a remarkable stink to Fight Arm’s human clothing, suggesting endless hours of being lived in. What had been one day in the natural world would have taken weeks of Fight Arm’s life.

“Lingering in that gate was a waste of your talents,” Deven commented, and he meant it. Lord Knife had other, lesser vassals —why send one of his best fighters?

“Not all of us have the power to choose when and where we appear.” Fight Arm eyed Deven’s pen almost hungrily.

Deven resisted the urge to pocket it. “I’ve a message for your lord.”

“My lord wants to hear nothing about you other than you’re dead.”

The walk up Paseo de la Reforma led to a large expanse of parkland in the center of the city. They passed by the Museum of Modern Art and Deven steered toward a park bench, where he sat down, keeping Fight Arm in his peripheral vision.

After a moment’s hesitation, Fight Arm sat beside him on the bench. “Lord Knife sent me to discover your intentions in Aztaw.”

“I have no intentions. I left.”

“Then why did you kill Lord Knife’s watchbirds?”

Deven suddenly understood why Fight Arm had been summoned. “You think it was me that did that?”

“They are trained to follow lords. Only you have a house power here.”

“Not only me. Night Axe has returned.”

Fight Arm jerked back. “Who says this?”

“I say it. I’ve seen him. Lord Knife’s birds have seen him too, which is why they’re dead.”

Fight Arm sat silently as he processed this. The park was busy, but few paid them notice. Deven noticed something streaming out of the corner of his eye and watched as a teenage girl entered the museum, a thin ribbon of artery trailing out her back. Deven thought how she was consequently connected to August; if the purpose and effect hadn’t been so nefarious, the concept was almost poetic.

“The birds would not follow him,” Fight Arm said slowly, as if unwilling to believe his own words. “Night Axe is only legend to the birds.”

“They were not following me,” Deven repeated. “You need to return home and warn your lord of Night Axe’s impending arrival. I’m the least of your concerns.”

But Fight Arm snarled. “Give us your house power and I’ll believe it.”

“No. You know what’ll happen if you bring it back down there.”

“We can’t win this war without the house powers.”

“You’ve lost the war already. I’m surprised any lords are left.” Deven shook his head. “And all of Aztaw is like an unprotected child now that the Lord of Hurricanes is at your door. He’s fueling himself on live sacrifices—people walking around, living and breathing, feeding him blood directly from their own bodies. He’s coming for Aztaw next. And with only half a dozen lords alive and fewer house powers, you’ll all be destroyed.”

Fight Arm said nothing. Deven knew he was considering his words and he found himself grateful Lord Knife had sent him rather than one of his other vassals. Fight Arm could be trusted to think for himself.

At last Fight Arm spoke. “How did Night Axe escape his prison in the realm of light?”

“I don’t know,” Deven admitted.

“Only Lord Jaguar could have done that,” Fight Arm said. “Lord Jaguar or his pathetic human vassal.”

“It wasn’t me, and Lord Jaguar is dead,” Deven replied. “I need to know what the lords used to weaken Night Axe.”

“Why? What is your role in this?”

“I came to help. I can track and kill Night Axe before he reaches Aztaw.”

“You will fail.”

“Better I try here, where he’s weaker, than in Aztaw, where he’ll have his full strength.”

“Why would you help us, revolting human?”

“Aztaw’s still my home.” Deven swallowed, feeling a wave of nostalgia crest over him. “I don’t want to see it destroyed. I fled only to keep my promise to my lord.”

“Lord Jaguar was a worthy adversary,” Fight Arm said quietly. Deven didn’t miss the insult in his own name’s omission, but he didn’t feel it. He was suddenly too grateful to be sitting with someone who knew Lord Jaguar, even if it was in the role of antagonist.

Deven’s heart hurt as he realized he had more in common with the opponent he’d been at war with since his childhood than any of the passersby in the park. Loneliness and regret filled him.

“The more you tell me how to defeat Night Axe, the more likely my chances I’ll succeed,” Deven said.

Fight Arm hesitated.

Deven sighed. “I’m your enemy, offering to risk my life to defeat a greater threat. Helping me helps you. How did the lords defeat Night Axe and send him to the realm of light?”

“They poisoned him,” Fight Arm said.

“How?”

“Night Axe needs sacrificial human blood to fuel his manipulations. Without it he can no longer transform. If you poison the blood he uses, he will weaken enough that you can destroy him.”

“What kind of poison?”

“It was a concoction Lord Crane  created. That is all I know.”

Deven felt a surge of hope. NIAD’s advanced technology had to be able to recreate whatever concoction the lords had created thousands of years ago.

“I’ll find out what I can about the poison and how they administered it and report back to you. In exchange for your house power.”

Deven shook his head. “I give it to you, the rebels will have it within weeks, and it will be broken, just like your lord’s staff.”